


The Heart Needs

by come_slyther



Series: Love is an ever-fixed mark [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Auror Harry Potter, Curse Breaker Draco Malfoy, Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M, Marriage Proposal, Supportive Ron Weasley
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-07
Updated: 2019-02-22
Packaged: 2019-10-06 08:34:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,542
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17342108
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/come_slyther/pseuds/come_slyther
Summary: It’s been three years since Harry and Draco went from friends to housemates to lovers, and Harry’s never been happier. He got the guy, he got the job and now he’s even got his father’s wedding ring.But finding the right moment to propose might be a little more difficult than Harry realises.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hey everyone, thank you so much for the lovely comments and kudos on the first part of this. I’ve written a few little stories of our boys getting together so I thought I’d have a go at what happens afterwards!
> 
> I’ve just started a new job so my writing time’s been cut down a lot - I knew if I tried to write this all at once I'd just end up not doing it for a couple of decades, so I'm writing and uploading it in parts. There should be about four more installments to come and I'm going to do my best to update weekly. Please do send me your feedback to keep me on the right track with this story! 
> 
> As always, I hope you enjoy! x

 -*-

“Oh yeah, Harry, right there.”

“Here?”

“Merlin _yes_. _Oh fuuuuuuhhhh-_ ”

“Am I hurting you?”

“Mmmm, a little, but in a good way. Where did you – _ahhh –_ even learn to do this?”

“This isn’t my first rodeo, Malfoy.”

“That was awful, but _my word, do not stop doing that with your hands._ ”

“Wait a sec, just gotta get a bit more oil, you’re a bit dry. There we go. How’s this?”

“Up a bit. There. Can you use your knuckle - _ohmygod just like that._ ”

Harry kneaded the sore muscles of Draco’s back with well-practiced skill, soothing the knots and kinks from another long hard weekend spent Curse-Breaking somewhere in Snowdonia. Slowly, he eased off the pressure until Draco lay soft and pliant under his hands, his back rising and falling gently with his relaxed breaths.

“Thank you, love, I needed that,” Draco mumbled, his voice muffled somewhat by the pillow he had shoved under his face.

Harry leaned down and swept Draco’s silky silver-blonde hair across his shoulder, pressing a kiss to the elegant nape of his neck. He took a deep breath, inhaling the scent of Draco’s cologne, bergamot and citrus and musk, the salty hint of sweat (not that he’d ever _dare_ tell Draco he smelled sweaty) and the warm medicinal scent of the massage oil. His chest felt a little tight (as did his pants, unsurprising given that he was straddling a very naked Draco Malfoy) as it hit him once again that Draco was _his_ to hold and look after and love.  

“Harry?”

“Mmmm?”

“Are you going to fuck me now?”

Harry burst out laughing. “Merlin, I love you.”

-*-

The three years since Harry’d finally told Draco how he felt had been a wonderful and ridiculous whirlwind.

The first day or so of their relationship was spent shagging voraciously between naps; they had only paused long enough to feed Basil, grab some takeaway, have a bath (which quickly turned steamy in more ways than one) and, at one point, mentally scar Ron when he Floo’d over to borrow some flour and found Draco rogering Harry senseless on the sofa.

Their friends had been happy (“About sodding time,” Ginny’d shouted before forcing them all the do a round of shots to celebrate the end of all that UST). Within a couple of weeks, a photo of them sharing a sweet kiss outside the Leaky made the front page of the Prophet. Draco’d handed him the paper on his way out to work the next day, taking two steps into the hall before whirling back around and pulling Harry into a searing kiss. He’d nipped and sucked his way down Harry’s neck, his hand reaching around to grab Harry’s arse as he whispered fervently, “I haven’t read it. I don’t care what it says. You are _mine,_ Harry Potter, and no one and nothing’s changing that.”

(Harry had read the article later that morning after a bracing run, thrilled that it had been positive on the whole but somewhat alarmed to find out that he was now one half of a ‘power couple’. He’d carefully cut out the photo – grinning goofily as he watched photo-Draco press a soft kiss to his mouth before twining their fingers together and Apparating away – and pondered if being in a power couple meant that he’d have to spend more time on his hair.)

While Harry loved his friends, who’d supported him in so many ways throughout the years, there was something truly special about finally having a partner he could share everything with. Draco was there to clap proudly as Harry and Ron were sworn in as Aurors, reaching out to straighten Harry’s maroon robes on his first day and reassure him that he was going to be fine (“You’re the sodding Savior after all,” Draco’d chuckled, running his hands through Harry’s hair, “If anyone’s made for magical law enforcement, it’s you, love.”). He was there when Andromeda had got in touch, asking if Teddy could visit, and he was there when they arrived, a screeching five-year-old who was exhausted from a long Portkey from Sydney and broke Harry’s heart when he looked at him like a stranger. When Andromeda had asked if they might be willing to have Teddy stay during the Australian school holidays to give her a bit of a break, it was Draco that sorted out the logistics of having a child live with them for a week (the cushioning charms sometimes still came in handy when they weren’t quite able to make it to the bedroom).

Draco was there for the fights, the little squabbles about picking up towels from the floor and remembering to Vanish the rubbish, the big fights where Draco’s face would settle like stone and Harry’d shout and pace around, and he was there for the making up afterwards, the whispered mantras of _let’s sort this out_ and _I’m sorry_ and _I love you._

Harry loved Draco and he loved _them_ as a couple. He knew, deep in his bones, that this was a once-in-a-lifetime feeling and he wanted to hold onto it forever. And, because of that, he was going to ask the prat to marry him.

-*-

It was during his year off between finishing his Eighth Year at Hogwarts and starting the Auror training programme that Harry had finally got around to hiring a Financial Adviser. (The fact that Hermione had told him to do so with the same steely no-nonsense air she’d had when presenting him with a personalised Eighth Year revision schedule had no bearing on his decision whatsoever, thank you very much.)  

Lugnott was a fairly friendly goblin – in that he didn’t seem to actively dislike Harry or hold that whole theft-by-dragon business against him - and within a few weeks he had catalogued Harry’s various assets on reams of parchment and presented them in all in a very sophisticated leather folder.

Harry had felt like an eleven-year-old all over again as he realised just how _much_ he suddenly had. There were the different vaults at Gringotts (the one his parents had set up for him, the Potter and Black family vaults _and_ Sirius’ own personal vault). As well as Grimmauld Place, he also owned the ruins of the cottage at Godric’s Hollow and a plot of land on the outskirts of the village that had once belonged to the Peverells; a crumbling manor in Gloucestershire that had belonged to the first Potter, Linfred of Stinchcombe; a Black family home nestled on the banks of the Dordogne in Bergerac…on and on the list had gone until Harry had seen, listed inconspicuously under ‘Miscellaneous’, his parents’ wedding rings.

He’d felt a flash of guilt as he realised he hadn’t really ever thought about his parents’ personal affects. He’d seen the crumbling cottage at Godric’s Hollow, had stood at the threshold of his parent’s marital home and hadn’t even thought to ask if anything had been spared. (In fairness to him, trying not to get killed by an evil noseless megalomaniac did take up a lot of brain power.)

His musings had been interrupted when Lugnott had placed a new piece of parchment before him, containing a variety of graphs that, curiously, were moving and flashing almost like the stock exchange charts he’d sometimes caught glimpses of when Uncle Vernon had been watching the news. Harry tuned back in to what Lugnott was saying just in time to understand that he was _pretty fucking loaded._ He’d immediately asked Lugnott to look into setting up a vault for Teddy and organising some hefty charitable donations to orphanages around both wizarding and muggle Britain.

 _“_ I’d like my parents’ wedding rings,” he’d requested at the end of the meeting as he shook hands with his Financial Adviser. They were delivered a few days later by a magnificent (if a little terrifying) eagle owl. His mother’s ring had been a delicate white gold band with a pretty sapphire in the centre that had no doubt set off Lily Potter’s pale skin and red hair beautifully; his father’s was a simple and solid platinum ring that sat heavy in the centre of his palm. He’d almost fancied that he could felt a whisper of their magic as he examined the rings, running the tip of his index finger around them reverently.

The rings had gone back into his vault when he’d realised that he wasn’t going to be needing them anytime soon. Thrilled as he was that his two best friends were joined at the hip (and face) and engaged to be doing that forever, Harry had known then that he wasn’t interested in settling down any time soon. Maybe not ever.

Which was why, when he’d retrieved the rings from his vault three months ago, he’d had a small chuckle to himself. His twenty-year-old self would no doubt have been a little surprised to know that in only five years, Harry would be thinking about how he was going to propose – and to Draco sodding Malfoy at that.

After a night in the Leaky, where Seamus had joined them, bursting with pride about Dean’s new jewellery shop in Diagon Alley and how he was finally _taking his talent seriously and doing something with it, ya know?,_ Harry had anonymously owled his mother’s ring to Dean and asked for it to be altered slightly; he wanted the band widened and thickened to fit Draco’s finger perfectly.

The ring had been returned, exactly right, earlier that morning. Basil had sniffed the little cream coloured velvet box – scuffed at the edges and worn at the front – before curling his little body around it, a sign of approval if Harry’d ever seen one. Harry had finally moved it to the darkest corner of his underwear drawer, using six Auror-grade spells of concealment and a fancy muggle technique where he threw a load of questionable underwear over the box in hopes that the truly shocking amount of holes would deter Draco’s wandering hands.

He smiled to himself as he headed off to Floo Ron. He needed to talk to his best man.


	2. Chapter 2

“Harry, Ron’s just told me the news! Oh, I’m so thrilled for you!”

“Steady on, ‘Mione, I haven’t asked him yet. He might say no.”

“Pfft, as if Draco isn’t head over heels for you.”

“Yeah, but marriage…that’s a whole new level of commitment. Draco won’t even take out a subscription to Witch Weekly - even though he buys every blasted issue – just in case he changes his mind about it one day.”

“That boy threw over that ridiculously hot barista for you. That’s commitment enough, I’d say.”

“They went on _two_ dates! And he wasn’t even that hot!”

“Harry, please, your eyesight is not that bad. Anyway, how do you plan on asking him?”

“That’s the thing, I’m not sure. I don’t know if I should go all out and do something really dramatic, or keep it private and intimate. You know, in case he recoils in horror and curses my balls off.”

“Oh Harry, you’re really worried about this, aren’t you?”

“Yeah, I just… everything is great as is… and we’re still young. And it’s only been three years.”

“You’ve known him since you were eleven. And Ron and I got married young-”

“Yes, but you two didn’t spend the formative years of your life trying to hex the living shite out of each other.”

“Don’t you remember the birds?”

“Oh yeah, _Merlin_. Ron was twitchy for a solid month after that. Breakfast post gave him flashbacks.”

“Yes, well, it got his attention, didn’t it? Anyway, back to you. Why don’t we bring up the subject of marriage at Friday drinks, see how he reacts? I’m certain you’re worrying about nothing but if it’ll put your mind to rest…?”

“Yeah! That’s a good idea. I just want this to be right, you know? He’s _it_ for me. Stop smiling at me like that.”

“It’s just so lovely, Harry. I’m happy for you. And hey, I could always teach you that Bird-Conjuring Charm, just in case?”

 -*-

Friday drinks at the Leaky had well and truly become a tradition, to the extent that Tom always pushed together two tables at the back for them and usually had a bottle of Draco’s favourite red breathing for when they traipsed in.

That night, Harry and Draco got to the pub later than usual because Harry had been caught up at work (to be fair, if he hadn’t insisted on giving Draco a blow job in the shower, they probably would have made it on time). The Leaky was busy, the smell of chips making Harry’s mouth water and the sound of laughter and chatter settling cosy and comfortable around his shoulders. Harry thread his fingers through Draco’s, walking in front as he led them towards their usual spot. He could see Hermione, Ron, Seamus and Luna already seated around the large, rustic dining tables, a variety of glasses spread out in front of them.

“Alright, lads!” Ron called, waving at them with his half-drunk ale sloshing precariously up the sides of his glass. “Oi, budge up, Finnigan,” he added, conjuring an impressively ornate set of armchairs for Harry and Draco.

“My word, Ron,” Draco smirked as he sat down, “these are almost stylish.”

“Shut it, ferret face,” Ron replied with a grin. “Anyway, did you see your old mate Flint made Chaser for the Falcons?”

“Marcus? _Really?_ I thought he’d quit professional Quidditch after they had their last kid?”

Ron shrugged. “Seems like Oliver’s happy to be at home with them full-time. Surprising really, given how mental he was about Quidditch at school. Didn’t he once try and drown himself in the showers after Gryffindor lost a game, Harry?”

Harry chuckled. “He took dedication to a whole new level for sure.”

“The Falcons though,” Draco mused, “that’s rather impressive. Perfect team for Flint, I’d say. Isn’t their motto ‘Let us win, but if we cannot win, let us break a few heads’?”

“Sounds like Flint alright,” Harry laughed. “Even if he is a dad now. Anyway, anyone for a drink? I reckon it’s my round.”

When Harry returned from the bar, Pansy and Ginny had joined the group and were curled up together in one of the armchairs. He smiled warmly at them, tweaking Ginny’s hair as he walked past to perch on the overstuffed arm of Draco’s chair.

“Did you guys hear that Angelina Johnson and Lee Jordan got engaged?” Hermione asked, taking a sip of her Gillywater and lime.

Ginny grinned. “Yeah, George told me. About bloody time!”

Harry laughed. “How long have they been going out? Five years?”

“Yeah, about that,” Ron added. “Although wasn’t this Lee’s third proposal?”

“Angelina actually proposed this time,” Luna said, her pastel yellow drink emitting a soft flash of light every minute or so. “She came into the Menagerie on Monday to pick up one of our crups, a lovely little man called Reginald.” Harry bit back a laugh as he imagined Lee having to yell _Reginald!_ when taking the crup for a walk. “She said she’d finally felt ready to marry Lee and wasn’t going to wait around for the next time he decided to ask because he’d probably leave it a few years after being told no twice.”

“I guess to each their own,” Hermione said, raising an eyebrow at Harry pointedly. “Some people get married quickly and others wait years to figure out if they're ready for the commitment.”

Draco took a sip of his wine. “It’s funny, I was pretty much raised to think I’d be married straight out of Hogwarts and expected to produce an heir as soon as possible to _secure the Malfoy bloodline_.” He set his wine down on the table and put his hand on Harry’s leg, fingers tracing small circles on his knee. For some reason, the gesture made Harry feel nervous, as if Draco was trying to subconsciously calm him. All of a sudden, he wanted to be anywhere but this conversation. “It’s been quite a freedom not having that over my head these last few years.”

Harry stilled. _Fuckdamnit._ “So, you’re not the marrying kind then?” he asked Draco, trying – and just about succeeding – to keep his voice light. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Ron grimace.

Draco shrugged. “I don’t know if it’s that important to me anymore, really.”

Seamus nodded. “I think I agree with you there, Draco. Dean was really keen on the idea a couple of years ago, especially as the wizarding world is far more accepting of gay relationships and marriages than Muggles are. But after we talked it through, we realised we liked things as they were and a piece of paper wasn’t going to make us feel any different.”

Hermione frowned and leaned forwards. Harry had never wished more strongly that he was a skilled Legilimens than in that moment as he fervently thought _please please please drop it, 'Mione_. “What about you, Harry? What are your views on marriage?”

Harry swallowed, his throat suddenly dry. “Well.” He coughed lightly. _Thanks for asking,_ _I was actually hoping to marry my boyfriend next year but he doesn’t really seem into it._ “I like the idea that someone chooses you for life, that you’d make that sort of commitment to one another.”

Ron smiled and put an arm around Hermione. “It’s worked for us so far.”

Draco smiled. “I guess it’s all subjective,” he replied. “I love Harry and I want to be with him forever-” (“Awww!” “So sweet!” “Draco that is disgusting.”) “-and I don’t need an hour-long bonding ceremony and a signed bit of parchment to prove that.” He leaned forwards to take another sip from his wine. “My, this conversation has become very serious. We’re in our twenties! It’s a Friday night! We should be shitfaced and dancing in a club somewhere.”

Pansy dropped her head to Ginny’s shoulder. “Which club?”

Draco leaned back. “Er, well, I didn’t mean _tonight_. I was actually hoping to get to bed before midnight. It’s been a long week.”

An audible sigh of relief travelled around the table. Harry’s heart seemed to have dropped into his stomach and tied itself up in knots.

“Shots anyone?” He asked compulsively, desperate to get away from the table for a few minutes. “I hear Tom’s got a new one that makes you breathe fire.”

“None for Pansy then, she comes with her own fire-breathing abilities.”

Ginny really was quite graceful, even when shoved to the floor.

 -*-

“Alright, Haz, we need a game plan.”

“Wha’ for?”

“Marryin’ Draco.”

“Why do you wanna marry Draco for, Ron? He’s _my_ boyfriend.”

“Silly Harry. Not me. You!”

“Ron, you heard ‘im. He’s not interested in marriage.”

“Wrong. He said he didn’t _need_ to get married. Not that he didn’t _want_ to get married.”

“I don’t think we should have anymore of those shots, Ron. My throat ‘urts.”

“FOCUS! Ow, you’re right. My throat hurts too. No more shots. Fire-breathing is for dragons.”

“And Pansy.”

“Ha, dare you to say that to her face.”

“Fuck off, I might be silly but I’m not stupid.”

“Merlin, Harry, focus! We need to come up with a plan. Here, have another shot.”

“Like what? Tie him to a chair and force him to marry me?”

“Kinky.” _Thump._ “Ow! Lay off. Draco wants to be with you forever, he said so himself. So, I think we need to romance him a bit.”

“We? Why do you keep trying to take my boyfriend from me, Ron?”

“Well, he does look pretty hot in those jeans.” _Thwack._ “Ow! I’ll admit I deserved that. Down it on three? Ready? One, two, three-” _Slurp. Cough. Roar. Hiss. “_ Merlin’s fucking balls, do _not_ let one of those shots go down the wrong way. Pretty sure I just singed off all my nose hairs. Anyway, let’s meet up tomorrow for a coffee and talk strategy. We have a man to marry.”

 -*-


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn't get to write as much of this as I wanted but posting anyway or I never will. I've hit a bit of a roadblock with it - I have an ending but not too sure yet how I'm getting there!

The next day, Harry stumbled out of bed in the late morning, his throat burning and the world a blur. He pushed his glasses onto his nose and fumbled around in the side table for one of Draco’s home-brewed hangover potions; he’d somehow found a way to give them an aftertaste almost like treacle tart, which always made Harry’s heart warm even as he shuddered through the initial discomfort of all the toxins leaving his body at once.

Harry brushed his teeth before making his way down to the front room, bare feet whispering on the polished wood floors. He walked in to find Draco sat on the couch, deep in thought. A spread-open copy of Witch Weekly was facedown next to him and Basil was snoozing under the coffee table, his tail wrapped around his little face. Harry paused just over the threshold, drinking in the sight of Draco, _his Draco,_ in nothing fancier than jeans and a t-shirt, blonde hair catching sparks in the sunlight that filtered through the window. He was chewing on his plump bottom lip, his eyes unfocused as he churned something over in his mind. His right index finger was tapping lightly on the spot where his Mark was dissected by the stark white scar of the burning curse he’d saved Bill from years ago.

“Draco?” Harry said softly, a little unsure. He’d never seen Draco look so- well, _defeated_. Even in the darkest moments of the war, when he’d been terrified and close to broken, Draco’d had a burning in his eyes that Harry couldn’t forget.

“Oh,” Draco started, sitting up a little straighter and softening the set of his mouth slightly. “You’re up.”

“I am,” Harry answered, moving to sit next to his boyfriend. He reached over and planted a soft kiss on Draco’s cheek, frowning when he felt him tense ever so slightly. “Are you okay?” Harry asked as he drew back.

“Mmmmm, yeah,” Draco said, not meeting Harry’s eyes. “Just tired. I might go over to Pansy’s today.” He stood up. “You’re seeing Ron, right?”

“Yeah, he’ll be over in a minute. Do you want to stay and hang out with us?”

Draco shook his head. “No, I- just need a bit of-.” He cut off, running his fingers through his shoulder-length hair and rubbing the back of his nape distractedly. “Just need some space today.”

Harry’s pulse, which had been gradually speeding up, started to thrum in his chest. “Is there- did I do something?”

“No! No. I just-.” Again, he stopped abruptly, so at odds with his usual verbosity. Draco sighed. “I’ll see you tonight, Harry.” He quirked his mouth slightly, and leaned down to run a hand over Harry’s jaw, pressing a featherlight kiss into Harry’s hair.

Harry watched him leave the room, feeling completely wrong-footed. If there was one thing he and Draco excelled at, it was fighting, even if they didn’t get into their infamous shouting matches all that often anymore. But when they did, Draco would make sure Harry _knew_ when he’d done something wrong, with his pointed barbs and cutting glares, a red flush high on his cheekbones and a wild quality to his eyes.

With a sudden clarity, Harry recalled the conversation from the pub last night.

_“It’s been quite a freedom not having that over my head over the last few years.”_

_“I like the idea that someone chooses you for life, that you’d make that sort of commitment to one another.”_

Had Harry scared Draco with his talk about marriage and commitment and choices for life? Enough for him to need _some space_? _Fuck,_ Harry groaned inwardly, running a hand over his stubbly jaw as the Floo flared to life.

“Hey mate!” Ron grinned, stumbling slightly on the hearth. “I’ve got a bag of Bertie’s and some lemon drizzle mum sent over. I bloody love cheat day!”

Harry quirked his mouth up despite the heavy feeling in his chest. Molly’s lemon drizzle cake was a cheat day staple, and always featured the day after the dreaded weekly five-mile run to remind them there was goodness in the world.

“You alright?” Ron asked as he sank onto the sofa next to Harry. Frowning, he reached between them until he came up with the now somewhat crumpled copy of Witch Weekly. “Hermione _hates_ Witch Weekly, never lets me read it,” he said as he smoothed the magazine out and shoved a slab of cake in his mouth. Harry wondered briefly if Ron had an undetectable extension charm on his mouth to enable him to fit all that food in there at once. “She actually rates the Quibbler higher for quality content, but don’t tell Luna or Mione’ll have me.”

Harry laughed quietly, feeling a rush of warmth for his ridiculous, brilliant best friends.

“I think Draco’s mad at me,” he said after a moment. “Because of what I said last night about marriage and that. He went to Pansy’s because he needed some space.”

“Nah,” Ron replied shortly, thrusting the magazine at him. “It’ll be this that’s upset him.”

Confused, Harry looked down at the copy of Witch Weekly. A photo of Draco instantly drew his eye and he found himself smiling softly; in it, Draco was sat outside the small bakery just off Diagon Alley that sold his favourite breakfast pastries, the flaky, golden swirls that were filled with delicious custard. Photo-Draco leaned over and took a neat bite, table manners immaculate as ever.

Harry frowned when he flicked his eye over the rest of the page and caught on sentences like _let himself go_ and _spotted eating alone_ and _is Harry getting bored?_ There was an inset photo of Harry with his friend Euan from a few months ago; in it, Harry was laughing uproariously at something Euan had said, before being pulled into a one-armed hug. Harry felt a current of anger shoot through him as he realised how the photo had been taken out of context. Draco had in fact been just on the other side of Euan that night, deep in conversation with Euan’s girlfriend Hannah.

“Fucksake,” Harry growled as he threw the magazine across the room. Basil shot out from beneath the coffee table when the Witch Weekly burst into confetti as it hit the wall, chasing the pieces of paper around the room with a joyous chirp. “Why would they even write something like that? He’s fucking gorgeous.”

“Yeah,” Ron agreed, taking another bite of cake. “Teenage Ron would actually hate me, but I have to admit he’s a bit of alright.”

Harry chuckled, although he still felt the fizz of anger under his skin. “They couldn’t have used a photo of me with anyone else,” he muttered as he watched Basil tackle a floating piece of paper to the ground with deadly precision. “He’s always had a bit of weirdness about Euan.”

“To be fair, you _did_ say Euan would be your pass,” Ron replied sagely. “That’d make anyone feel a bit weird. Everyone knows you pick someone completely unattainable. Plus, you went on about it for _five minutes_ before you realised Draco’d left.”

“Yeah, alright,” Harry said. “You still got upset when Hermione picked Lord Byron and he’s been dead for almost three hundred years. That’s about as unattainable as you can get.”

“Well what’s so bloody good about poetry anyway?”

Harry laughed, finally feeling some of the tension ease out of him. He sighed softly. “I need to go and find my boyfriend and tell him I’m completely crazy in love with him.”

Ron beamed. “Perfect way to pop the question if you ask me. Tell him he looks fit in those grey jeans he likes to wear then get down on one knee.”

Basil came padding over and jumped lightly into Harry’s lap, bunting his forehead against his stomach. “Hey, baby,” Harry crooned, lightly stroking under Basil’s chin. “Maybe I should get you to ask him, he never says no to you.”

“Harry, I think you’re overthinking this,” Ron said, picking up his third slice of cake. “Draco is _mad_ about you. I know this. You know this. All of wizarding Britain knows this, even the wankers at Witch Weekly.” He waved his slice of cake at Harry, crumbs spraying over them both. “So what if he did say no? Would you break up with him?”

“No! Of course not.” Harry said, realising as he spoke that it was the complete truth. “I just…anyone would feel a bit rejected in that situation.” He bopped Basil gently on his nose and was rewarded with a lick. “I’d respect his decision, though, of course I would. I’d just really like him to say yes.”

Ron shrugged. “There you go, mate. If the answer won’t negatively impact how you feel about Draco, then what’s the big deal? I thought we’d have to brainstorm some romantic grand gestures today but I reckon we go with a simple question. Whenever it feels right.”

“You continuing to say _we_ is a little disconcerting,” Harry said as he shifted Basil over to Ron’s lap. “Watch the cat for me, I’m going over to Pansy’s.” He ruffled Ron’s hair. “Thanks for everything, mate.”

His best friend shrugged. “If Hermione asks, I only had one slice of cake, yeah?”

-*-


	4. Chapter 4

“How many slices of cake did Ron eat, Harry?”

“Errr…one?”

“Really? _Just_ one?”

“Yes?”

“Harry James Potter, I did _not_ raise you to be a liar.”

“Hermione you didn’t raise-”

“ _How many slices of cake did Ron have, Harry?”_

“I don’t know, I wasn’t counting!”

“I don’t like liars, Potter! And neither do my birds!”

“Three, okay?! He had three slices of cake. Bloody hell, Hermione, put your wand down. Why do you even care how many slices he had?”

“Oh, I don’t. We just had a bet to see if you’d spill after Ron told you not to. He owes me five galleons.”

“You guys are the actual worst.”

-*-

The following Saturday, Harry walked into the kitchen with a paper bag full of little flaky pastries from the bakery off Diagon tucked under his arm. He had his nose in the latest Quidditch League tables and was giving serious consideration to telling Ron he could in no good faith support the Canons anymore.

The ring box in his trouser pocket bounced lightly against his leg. He’d taken to carrying it around all the time under a concealment charm, finding the slight weight of it somewhat reassuring. When he’d gone to Pansy’s the day the Witch Weekly article came out, he hadn’t felt right asking Draco The Question when he was feeling so low. He had instead focused on reminding Draco that he was absolutely _everything_ to Harry, and that with all they’d been through together, all the blood and fire and horror and joy, Harry was not going to give him up. Not unless he really wanted to go. (“Of course not!” Draco had sniffed, lifting his head from Harry’s shoulder. “Well that’s settled then,” Harry’d replied, brushing his thumb gently under Draco’s eye. “How about we go home and spoon on the couch?”)

Harry had awoken earlier that morning with a sense of determination. He’d built the whole _asking-Draco-to-marry-him_ business into something large and terrifying, and lying in bed, with Draco’s arm draped loosely around his waist and Basil lying by his feet and sunbeams swirling in through the windows, Harry’d resolved that he was going to _just bloody do it_. That he’d decided to first go and buy Draco’s favourite pastries, the ones guaranteed to put him in a good mood, was completely unrelated.

“Morning,” Harry said towards the sounds of movement in the utility room, his eyes moving down (down, down) to where the Canons languished right at the bottom of the league table. He sighed, turning his attention to reading the writeup on their latest dismal performance. The match had seen the Keeper not only knock himself out as he tried to catch the Quaffle, but also in the same move inadvertently punt the ball into the hoop to score for the opposing team. It was almost genius.

“Hey, you’ll never guess what that bloody…” Draco called back, his voice tailing off as he moved further into the other room. Harry didn’t hear the rest until Draco walked into the kitchen saying “-so I have to re-wash it. I swear I’m going to _Impedimenta_ the shit out of that ghoul.” Harry heard a chuckle. “You’ve not listened to a word I said, have you?”

“What! I was definitely listening to- _holyfuckingMerlin._ ” Harry swallowed thickly as he finally took in the sight of his boyfriend leaning against the doorway between the kitchen and the utility room, a dishcloth in his hands. Draco was barefoot, wearing jeans and a tight white vest top that showed off the breadth of his shoulders and chest, the little belly that Harry loved because the skin there was smooth and smelled fucking delicious, the powerful forearms covered with a dusting of baby fine, silver-white hairs, the smattering of brown beauty marks and the constellation of scars from his job… Harry’s mouth dried up as his trousers tented in recorded time.

“See something you like?” Draco smirked.

“Shut up and sit on my face,” Harry replied.

He could be forgiven for forgetting to propose after that.

-*-

“And he was in this ridiculous vest top and I just…got a bit distracted.”

“Don’t blame you, Harry, I hate to objectify him but when Draco wears those grey jeans, I also get a bit…distracted.”

“I think we all do, Ron. Those grey jeans are something else. Sometimes my thighs quiver a bit.”

“Seriously Hermione? You too?”

“Yes, _me too_ , Harry. I have eyes and Draco is...well. _You know._ In fact, Ron, I reckon Draco might be my pass.”

“Oooh, good shout! Can he be my pass too? Can we both have him as our pass? What’s the rule on that?”

“ _The rule is that no, you cannot have my boyfriend as your mutual fucking pass!”_

-*-

The next time Harry seriously thought about proposing, he got as far as actually asking Draco a question. His famous Gryffindor bravery had buffeted him down the hall and into the front room where Draco lounged on the couch in soft grey jogging bottoms and an oatmeal t-shirt. His hair was pulled up in a bun and he was reading something intelligent and dense-looking. However, Harry’s courage failed him at the last moment and instead of asking his beautiful, wonderful boyfriend if he would do him the honour of becoming his husband, he instead asked him if he’d-

“Go out jogging with you? Why would I do that?”

Caught off guard, Harry thought about the reasons why _he_ went jogging and said the first thing that came to mind. “To get in shape?”

In the awful silence that followed, Harry heard his heart thundering in his ears as he realised what he’d said. “Oh Merlin, no, that came out wrong! You don’t need to get in shape! Unless you want to? In which case I totally support that. But you definitely don’t have to! Draco I didn’t mean-”

Draco stood up and snapped his book shut audibly, effectively cutting off Harry’s babbling. His eyes were fierce and his jaw tense. “I do _not_ want to go jogging with you,” he said as he walked past Harry, neatly sidestepping the bundle of bedlinen that flew into the room and smacked Harry in the face.

-*-

“You are hopeless, Potter.”

“I know, Pans, but I swear I didn’t mean it the way it sounded. Please help, he hasn’t spoken to me in _two days_. That fucking article. Argh!”

“Fine, here. This is the address for his favourite patisserie in Paris. He is particularly partial to the pistachio macarons.”

“ _Thank_ you, you wonderful, wonderful woman.”

“They close soon so you should get a move on. Oh, and Potter?”

“Yeah?”

“I like violet cremes.”

-*-

Harry felt his blood fizzing around in his veins. Every nerve felt electrified and he swallowed against the thrumming of his heart in his throat. It was _boiling_ in the kitchen and his face felt flushed. There he was, on one knee, in front of Draco, about to reach into his pocket, take the ring out and finally propose. _For better or for worse_ , he thought wryly. His soft emerald green button down, the one Draco had bought him, stuck slightly to his back with a thin sheen of sweat. His throat felt dry and he briefly considered reaching back to the kitchen table and grabbing the bottle of crisp white wine he’d chosen to go with the scallops he had sizzling in a pan on the stove.

“Harry!” Draco sounded shocked.

Harry smiled, trying to seem relaxed and calm even as he battled with not projectile vomiting everywhere. He looked into his boyfriend’s stormy grey eyes, which had widened with what Harry hoped was anticipation. “Draco-”

“Harry, the fucking dinner’s on fire. _Get up!”_

-*-

 

“I mean, as far as dramatic proposals go, setting your own house on fire has got to rank quite high.”

“Fuck off, Ron.”

-*-

Two weeks later, Harry stood in their bedroom, the ring box open in his palm. The soft afternoon sun caught on the white gold band and glinted off the sapphire embedded in the centre, making it look like it was giving off its own light. Harry wondered how it was that such a small thing could cause him so much hassle.

They’d managed to get the smell of burning out of the kitchen with a host of Molly’s high-strength cleaning spells, although there was still the odd whiff of it every once in a while. Draco had not been best pleased when the walls that he had painstakingly painted a soft, French grey ( _with magic so it doesn't count,_ Harry had thought somewhat meanly as he was scolded) had been blackened with greasy smoke.

There was a niggling feeling in the back of his mind that told Harry that it shouldn’t be this hard. It had been almost two months since he first told Ron he was going to propose. Two months where he hadn’t been able to say five words to the person he told everything to.

Harry was so preoccupied with his thoughts that he didn’t notice the door open, or Draco pad over to him, Basil echoing his steps. It was only when Draco’s hand landed on his shoulder that he jumped, startled, yelping loudly. Basil chirped in indignation, shooting off across the room to hide under the bed. Harry quickly closed his fist around the box, the loud _snap_ of it cracking loudly in the room.

“Harry? Are you alright?”

“Yes! Why wouldn’t I be? Everything’s fine!”

“O- _kay._ What’s in your hand?”

“Nothing.” _Oh Merlin, did I just seriously squeak?_

“Really?” Draco raised his left eyebrow slowly, a trick that made Harry secretly seethe because he couldn’t quite do it. “Open your hand, Potter.”

“It’s _nothing_ , Malfoy,” Harry growled. He really wished he could raise one eyebrow slowly.

“If it’s nothing, you’ll show me.”

“No!”

“Because it’s _not_ nothing, is it?” Draco crowed triumphantly.

“It’s nothing! See!” Harry thrust out his palm, not quite sure this was the way he wanted to propose, and opened it to reveal…nothing. His hand was empty.

_Oh shit._

-*-

“Hermione, if anyone can help me find it, it’s you. I’ve tried _Accio_ and everything, but I can’t find the bloody ring anywhere.”

“How, _how,_ do you even manage to get yourself into these situations?”

“I don't know. Maybe it’s an omen?”

“Oh Harry. I may have walked out of our Divination class, but even I know this isn’t an omen. You’re just nervous and you’re working this up into a much larger thing than it has to be.”

“Mmmmm.”

“Okay, let’s find the ring first, then you can have your crisis. I can’t tell if you Vanished or Banished the ring because it was wandless accidental magic, but I know a tracking spell that might work. Okay. Move, Harry, stop crowding me. _Invenio._ ”  

“Wow, that did…nothing.”

“Hold on…ah! There. The box by the bed that’s glowing. Wait, why do you have anti-summoning wards all over it? Did you bring home some sort of Dark object from a case? You know you’re not supposed to do that.”

“No, wait, Hermione, don’t open that-”

“ _Merlin,_ Harry James Potter, do you actually use this? It’s _massive_. Oh _my_. Oh here’s your ring by the way. Almost didn’t see it in the shadow of that… _thing._ ”

“Thank you! You truly are the brightest witch of our age. For fuck’s sake, Hermione, stop waving that around!”

-*-

After Hermione left, Harry sat in bed, the two rings cool against his palm. He’d decided he was going to return them to his vault until he felt it was a better time to ask Draco. He hadn’t been able to resist taking one last look at them together, these surviving pieces of his parents’ history. He shut his eyes and concentrated really hard, seeking out even just a wisp of warmth that was their touch. He fancied he could feel it, the soft burn of magic that felt like _family_ and _mine_ and _yours._

“Hey,” came a soft voice and he opened his eyes to see Draco standing above him, his eyes on the rings in Harry’s hand.

Harry smiled softly. “Hey.” He shifted over, giving Draco room to sit next to him against the headboard. “They belonged to my parents.”

Draco reached over and ran a finger across the rings. “No offence Harry, but your mother had rather… _generously_ sized fingers.”

Harry chuckled. Though Draco had beautiful hands, with long tapered fingers and perfect, square nails, the ring had still needed to be substantially widened to fit him and was now closer to his father’s in size.

“May I?” Draco asked, waiting for Harry to nod before picking up the platinum band. He examined it closely before grabbing Harry’s left hand from the bed and sliding the ring onto his finger. “Perfect fit,” he smiled, making Harry’s heart stutter a bit and a lump form in his throat. Draco held Harry’s hand in his, rubbing his thumb across the ring thoughtfully. “You were always so adamant that you weren’t one for settling down. Do you remember? When we were just friends and Ron and Hermione were newlywed. It would always come up at the Leaky, what with Dean and Seamus and then Ginny and Pans, and Luna and Rolf. You said you didn’t know if you wanted to ever do that. Long-term relationship. Get married. Have kids. The works.”

Harry snorted softly. _Oh how things change._

“When we got together, I wasn’t expecting anything like that,” Draco continued quietly. “You told me that you loved me and it was the only thing that mattered _._ I knew how you felt about marriage and honestly, Harry, I didn’t mind, not after growing up in fear of being sold off like cattle to preserve some shitstain name. In fact, I think I spent the first year of us together half-waiting for it to end.” Draco chuckled. “But I meant what I said in the pub. I could see you were a bit uncomfortable with Hermione grilling you yet _again_ about marriage. But I _do_ want to be with you forever. And if there comes a day that you change your mind and decide you want to get married, I’ll be here to say yes.”

Harry turned to Draco so fast he felt his neck crack. “What?”

“I-”

“Are you _joking_?”

“No-”

“I’ve spent the last _two months_ trying to ask you to marry me, terrified that you were going to say no and it might change how you feel about me and now you’re telling me you would have said yes? _I almost burned the bloody house down, Draco.”_

“ _That_ was a proposal? I thought you’d dropped your fork.”

Harry burst out laughing, the sheer ridiculousness of it all finally hitting him in one giant, rolling wave. “Oh Merlin, we really are morons.”

Draco grinned. “So…? Got something to ask me?”

“Hmmmmm…nope. Don’t think so. Nothing coming to mind right now-” Harry cut off with a thoroughly undignified squeak as Draco pulled him over onto his lap and wrapped his arm around Harry’s waist.

“Are you sure? There’s _nothing at all_ you’d like to ask me? No _burning questions_ on your mind?”

“Did you seriously just make a joke about the time I set the kitchen on fire?”

Draco mouthed his way up Harry’s neck, lips brushing softly against his jaw. “Okay, fine, I’ll do it then.” He wrapped a hand around the back of Harry’s neck, pulling him down until their foreheads rested together. “Harry James Potter, will you do me the great honour of asking me to marry you?”

“You git.”

“Prat.”

“Marry me?”

“Yes.”

-*-

“Okay, now everyone raise your flaming shot to the heavens and join me in a toast to our wonderful newlyweds. May 'for better or worse' be far better than worse. On three, ready? ONE, TWO, THREE. To Harry and Draco!” _ROARRRRRRRRHISSSSS. “_ Merlin’s balls, these shots are _terrible,_ let’s get another.”


End file.
